Did He Just Wink At Me?
by WhisperToMeSoftly
Summary: 100 oneshots. Shules. Each with a different theme: for SRD's 100 Theme Romance Challenge... Theme 4: Marriage. “Are you a psychic now?” he asks, attempting to smile. She tries too, for his sake. Neither smile looks completely sincere.
1. Dogs

AN: Saori Runa Dempsey's 100 Theme Romance Challenge

AN: Saori Runa Dempsey's 100 Theme Romance Challenge. She gives me the word, I give her the oneshot.

**The title of each chapter is the prompt I was given.**

**Some of this will be absolutely shameless Shules: and I hope you love it because of that. :)**

**I know I will.**

He had always liked dogs better.

They had the energy, the wild abandon, the dumb happiness that never seemed to fade. They'd never judge you, they'd never make you do something, they'd never look down on you. They always looked up. You were the world. And you could do nothing wrong.

For some reason, this comforted him greatly.

Maybe not Juliet so much.

"Shawn, what is that?" she demanded, her eyes wide as he walked up the steps. He grinned at her, patting the animal's head.

"It's a dog!" he said happily. 'The Dog' looked up at Juliet with big brown eyes—and began to wag his tail rapidly and pant.

"A dog?"

"Yes. A canine. One of those things with teeth that drool and leave fur all over the place."

"Why is that attractive?"

"Well, your cats do the same things!"

"They don't drool!'

"Are you sure? I thought that grey one might have gotten some spittle on me last night when I woke up to find him on my face—"

"Trevor likes you."

"Hm. Funny how that works. I'm not sure I'm fond of him."

"I'm not sure I'm fond of your dog either!"

"You haven't even met him yet! Hey Indiana, go say hi to Jules!"

"Indi—WHOA!"

As soon as Shawn released the giant dog's leash, he raced to Juliet in three giant bounds and placed his humongous paws right on her shoulders. She squeaked, staggering slightly from the weight. But she held firm. (Shawn smiled to himself. That was the police training.)

Indiana Jones tilted his head slightly, studying Juliet's face. She was visibly struggling to stay as still as possible, silently praying that he wouldn't lick her.

He didn't. He placed his cold, wet nose on the tip of hers, then dropped to his feet and sat.

And did nothing more.

Shawn heard her let out a small laugh—a breathy chuckle. She tentatively reached out a hand towards the dog, and he sniffed it before carefully licking it. A giggle escaped her.

The psychic walked up behind Indiana, dropping to the grass beside the giant brown shaggy dog. He looked up at Juliet with that same, sad look in his eyes, and asked, "Can we keep him?"


	2. Cats

"He feels neglected."

"Shawn…"

"Just look at him. Look into his eyes—he's trying to tell you how he feels."

"_Shawn._"

"You need to let him in. You need to let him know it's okay."

"SHAWN."

He looked up from where he was lying on the floor, his eyes wide with innocence and surprise. "What?"

"What are you doing?"

He, Indiana the dog, Trevor the gray cat, and Genevieve the calico were all on the floor of the living room. Indiana lay with his chin on his paws, looking dejected. Genevieve was standing, glaring at him. Trevor was sitting with his tail wrapped around his legs—every so often, the tip of his tail would twitch one way or the other as he watched both Shawn and the dog.

Shawn sighed, sitting up. "Indiana feels rejected," he said simply. "I'm trying to get Treader and…and Mademoiselle Cat over there—"

"Trevor and Genevieve."

"Aha! I knew it was something French! Anyway, I'm just trying to get them to accept Indiana for who he is!"

"And exactly who is Indiana?" she asked, one eyebrow quirked. (The expression on her face was so familiar to him…) "Let me guess: there's so much more to him then just fuzzy, dirty, ragged brown fur."

"_So_ much more!" Shawn exclaimed happily. "He's really an explorer at heart, he loves the ladies, he's got the manners of a gentleman, and he always seems to get in trouble with the Nazis."

Juliet stared at him for a moment. "Are we talking about Harrison Ford's character, or the dog?"

"Good ol' Harry copied Indiana." He pounded his fist into his knee, looking sincerely disappointed. "If only we could have gotten his character trademarked in time—"

"Oh, for God's sake!" she cried, throwing her hands in the air. "Shawn, why can't you ever take anything seriously?"

"I am taking this seriously!" he responded, standing.

(He had always been taller than her, she thought.)

"Your cats are shunning my dog!"

"Maybe your dog is defective!"

"Indiana Jones is not defective! He's a purebred!"

"A purebred what? A purebred mutt?"

"Exactly! You can totally see it, right? It's in the build of the legs I think. And the shape of the tail."

"Shawn, you're insane! Cats don't like dogs! Why did you even bring him home in the _first_ _place_?"

"Because…" He opened and closed his mouth, struggling to find the words to say—or the alibi to create. Juliet folded her arms across her chest, watching him squirm. He was _not_ pulling anything ridiculous on her; there had better be a good reason.

He let out all his breath in an exasperated sigh, flinging his arms about. "Because my dad was going to put him in the shelter," he said finally, turning and going to the window. Juliet frowned.

"So? He could have found a good home!"

Shawn said nothing. He didn't look at her.

Realization slowly dawned.

"You wanted to spite him. That's it, isn't it? You wanted to turn this mutt into the perfect dog so that you could succeed where your dad couldn't."

He rubbed the back of his neck, looking awkward. "Yeah…that sums it up pretty nicely, I think."

"Shawn…"

She wasn't even sure what to say. What was wrong with him? Why couldn't he and his father just _agree_ on something? Why couldn't they get along? It seemed like everything Shawn did, he did to spite his father or to prove his father wrong.

"All right, look," he began. "I've always wanted a dog. Dad never let me get one. So one day, I go over there to borrow some stuff, and he's got Indiana—except he called him Rufus, which is the most demeaning name for a dog I can possibly think of besides Rover. Then I ask about him, and he says he's going to give the dog away to a shelter because he couldn't handle him. But I wanted him."

He turned back to Juliet, who was still standing in the exact same place, looking at him with a sort of pitying gaze. It made him feel uncomfortable, and he reached up to rub the back of his neck again. "Jules, I could probably find a good home for him if you really want me to," he said quietly. "I don't want to mess this up. This—with you. I'll get rid of him."

She watched him for a moment, then looked away.

He was willing to get rid of the mutt…the dog he had always wanted…for her. It was so unlike him. She had expected him to put up more of a fight to keep the animal; after all, it seemed so precious to him. But there he was, standing in the light of the window, waiting for her to issue a verdict.

Damn.

Her gaze shifted as she thought—then she noticed something.

"Shawn," she whispered, sidestepping so that she could be closer to him and pointing to the floor. "Look."

There was Genevieve, curled up beside Indiana. Trevor lay on the dog's nose. The big brown mutt looked up at them both, and Juliet could have sworn that he was smiling.

"Well," Shawn said, folding his arms. "At least now that cat has another face to sleep on."


	3. Romance

AN: Although the previous two oneshots were connected, the rest of these will not be. They will be snatches of different points in time, in different universes, with different plotlines.

**Keep reviewing, I dearly love each and every one of you. :)**

Shawn sat on her desk. She looked up.

He grinned.

"Hi Jules."

Juliet sighed, moving several papers out of his reach and leaning back in her chair. "Hi Shawn," she said politely.

"You know, I was thinking—" (Uh-oh, she thinks.) "—I have nothing to do tonight. And I'm going to be rather lonely, with Gus out of town."

"Uh-huh."

Shawn looked up at her through his lashes, the slightest bit of a pout on his face. "You wouldn't want me to lonely, right Jules?" She raised an eyebrow—he changed tactics. "We'll be alone. At my apartment…I have fresh pineapple. And a widescreen TV."

"And a cozy couch, no doubt."

"The coziest I could find."

She sighed, running a hand through her blond hair. Shawn marveled at it for a moment; she had decided to let it down and straighten it today, and it fell, shimmering, to a point far past her shoulders.

"Shawn, I'm not really interested in anything like that right now."

"Anything like what?"

"Like that."

"Come again?"

"I don't have time for any sort of romance, Shawn."

He let out a gasp. "The scandal!" Then he leapt from her desk, knelt on the floor, and leaned his elbow on her desk instead. "Whoever said I was talking about romance?" he asked, resting his cheek on his hand. She smiled despite herself.

"You were implying it."

"Oooh…implications are always so fuzzy, Jules. You can really interpret them any way you want."

She waited for a moment, thinking this over. "Interpret them any way I want?"

A smirk was slowly but surely making its way across his face. "Any way you want."

"Deal. Cozy couch it is, sans the romance."

"Ah, how you wound me, Juliet…"


	4. Marriage

"Shawn? Are you all right?"

"Hmph."

"Shawn, seriously. What's wrong?"

"Nothing."

"You don't look very happy."

"Why should I be?"

"Because—"

"Because I'm at my father's wedding? I'm happy, Jules. Really."

She sighs, sitting down next to him. Her date will just have to wait—she can see him over by the punch bowl, conversing with Lassiter. (Oh, crap. He's talking to _Lassiter_…)

"Can't you at least pretend?"

"I _am _pretending." Then he tilts his head back, cocking it to one side to glance at her and smirk. "Maybe you're just the only one who can read me that well."

She rolls her eyes. "What are you going to say when your dad comes over here?"

"I'm going to tell him I'm happy for him and Sarah."

"_Susan._"

"Whoops."

"Come on, psychic. You knew her name."

"You _do _read me well."

"If you try something like that when your dad gets over here—"

His chuckle is mirthless. "I'm not that stupid, Jules."

"I never said you were!"

He doesn't respond, and they sit in silence for a while. She wonders whether she should leave—and casts another nervous glance at her date, still talking earnestly with Lassiter.

"Why aren't you happy for him?"

She sees exasperation in his expression, as if he's tried to answer this question many times before.

"I don't _know_, Juliet. I just don't know. It just seems…wrong. Shallow. But I…I don't know why it feels that way to me. Susan's fine, I guess. She's nice enough. She doesn't seem like the motherly type, though."

"She doesn't need to be. You aren't a child anymore."

Something clicked into place—she could see it. In a moment, she suddenly understood as well.

"You want a mother. A real one."

He opens his mouth to say something, then closes it with a sigh. "Are you a psychic now?" he asks, attempting to smile. She tries too, for his sake. Neither smile looks completely sincere.  
"Shawn—"

"You might want to save your date. I think he just said something to Lassiter."

Her attention is momentarily diverted—'Mike the stockbroker' is indeed backing slowly away from her partner, clutching a glass of punch in his hand with a frightened look on his face. Carlton looks livid.

When she looks back to the metal folding chair beside her, it's empty.


End file.
